


A World Called Catastrophe

by Bebopand (VivaRocksteady)



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Romance, see you in hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivaRocksteady/pseuds/Bebopand
Summary: Valery tilted his head, and nodded grudgingly. "Well, we would need supplies. Maybe it's further away than I think. We'd have to make sure we have enough food.""We're already dead, Valera," said Boris. "What do you think is going to happen?"--Two true heroes of the Soviet Union investigate whether they're in heaven or hell.





	A World Called Catastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the HBO show, and not real people. Please use reader discretion!

Unexpectedly, he awoke. 

He blinked. His vision was a field of green. 

For so long all he'd felt was the rank sheets of his hospital bed, air stale, food bland and inedible even if he'd had the strength or appetite to eat.

Now he breathed deeply, free from wrenching coughs. He smelled grass, wet earth, fresh air. Wind gently rushed through leaves. A kiss of sunshine warmed his back.

Boris sat up abruptly. He was wearing boots and army fatigues. His hands were smooth and unweathered. Young.

 _At last,_ he thought, _I am dead._

He looked around. He was in a thick forest on a mountainside. He picked a direction at random and started walking. There were no animals, no birds singing, no trace of humanity.

Boris's wife was about ten years younger than him, and so far showing no signs of illness. He was reticent to touch her, at first, until long after the trial was over. Poor Valera had tried to explain to him what was a risk and what wasn't. But Boris could not help the superstition that plagued him, the tremendous doubt that laid heavily upon him ever since the moment he realized Valera was right about the open core. 

In any case, his wife would not be here for quite some time. His children, hopefully, not for many, many decades. His parents he had not seen in what seemed like a lifetime, and he didn't feel he must hurry to find them. There were a few friends he'd known in his youth, colleagues, comrade soldiers-- but they could all wait, wherever they were.

There was only one person Boris was eager to see.

He found a small stream, clear all the way to white rock, no sign of fish. He followed it until he saw, in the distance, a shock of red hair shining in the sun.

There was a small, run-down cottage, set back a ways from the stream. A young man-- a boy, really-- sat beside the stream, trousers rolled up to his knees, soaking his feet. He looked like an overgrown schoolboy, gawky and freckled, shirt and trousers hand-me-downs from a bygone era.

Boris recognized him instantly. "Valera," he said.

The boy jumped almost entirely out of his skin, leaping up from the stream bank. He stepped towards the cottage hastily, eyes impossibly large behind those ridiculous glasses.

His hair was redder, and fuller, covering more of that big head, falling almost to his eyes. He was very freckled, and smooth, and exactly as fragile as Boris always knew him to be.

"Who are you?" the boy demanded. "How did you get here?" 

Boris looked around. "It is me, Valera," he said. He wasn't sure how to answer the second question, so he didn't.

Valery lowered his head miserably. "I thought I was in hell."

Boris looked around again. "Pretty nice for--"

Valery threw himself at Boris, burying his face in the bigger man's shoulder. Boris was startled. The professor had never been very tactile. He was much too jumpy and jittery for that sort of thing.

"Valera," he breathed, wrapping his friend in a tight hug.

Valery's glasses had been pushed up onto his forehead. He mumbled something into Boris's shoulder.

"What?"

Valery looked up at him, not letting go. "How long did it take?"

"Two years since you," said Boris. "Four years and four months. You were right on the money."

"It's been two years?" Valery looked troubled. "The sun never sets. There's no way to tell." He leaned his head on Boris's shoulder again. "I wish you didn't come here. I wish I was not right on the money." 

"Now," Boris scoffed. "I was past 70, anyway. It was a long life. I only wish I had used it better."

Valery clutched at him miserably.

"How old are you? Here?" asked Boris.

Valery shrugged. "25, I think. When I was a graduate student." 

"25?? You look fourteen." 

Valery shoved Boris away. Or rather he shoved at Boris, who stood firm, and ended up stumbling backwards himself. Basic Newtonian physics. 

"Tch!" Valery scowled. "How old are you supposed to be? You have too many muscles. You look like a propaganda drawing."

Boris barked a laugh. He looked down at his chest, at the lack of medals there. "About twenty, I think. It was the Winter War."

Valery was slumped over, clutching one arm with the other, looking shyly at his feet. "You're taller than I remember."

Boris shrugged. "I think I _was_ taller then. Why am I younger than you? When you were 25, I was already middle aged." 

"I was happiest when I was a graduate student," said Valery. "Before I had to… Were you happiest in the Winter War?"

"Not really," said Boris. "But I suppose you're only twenty once. I'm not going to complain about it. What is this place?" He nodded at the cottage.

"It was my grandmother's house," said Valery. "I liked to visit as a child."

"Then why do you think you're in hell?"

Valery was quiet. "There's no one else here," he finally said. "Not even any animals. There are no books, nothing to do. All I can do is sit and worry about… about Snezhana. And the reactors. And… you." The last words were very small. 

"Who is Snezhana?" 

Valery almost actually pouted. "You will laugh."

"I promise I will not."

Valery sighed. "Snezhana is my cat."

Boris did not laugh, though he bit his lip and his heart did melt a tiny bit. "Oh."

"I left her food for a few days. But I do not know if it was enough. And since I am in hell, she will not join me. So all I can do is worry that she died suffering because of me--"

"Valery," Boris used a warning tone of voice. "They found you within two days. I'm sure somebody took her, and that she is fine." He stepped forward and hugged the professor. "You will see her again."

"How do you know?"

"Because I am sure she loves you," Boris said, though he was skeptical that cats loved their owners at all. "And I--" he stopped. Started again. "Valera, did you even believe in God when you were alive?" 

"No," Valery admitted. "I only believed in science."

"And I only believed in the state," said Boris. "And look where that got me. Now, I'm not a scientist, but I think it is a little silly to accept a hypothesis based on nothing but assumptions. I think we should investigate." He took Valery's hand. 

Inside, he looked through empty cupboards. "Don't you have any vodka?" 

"No." Valery slumped at the little table.

"What about tea?" 

"I told you, there is nothing," said Valery. "Not even any mushrooms or berries to pick. Are you even thirsty?"

“No,” said Boris. “But it would be nice.”

Valery sighed heavily.

Boris crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Valera, why do you think I am here?”

“What?” The little professor was spacey as ever.

“If this is hell, why am I here?”

Valery slumped into himself even further. “To torture me.”

“What??” 

Valery took a shuddering breath, eyes wet. “Because I murdered you.”

“You did _not_ murder me,” Boris spat.

“If I had been more insistent, if I made them listen to me earlier, we wouldn’t have had to stay there as long and—”

“I was one of the people who didn’t listen to you!” 

Valery, the stubborn little jackass, shook his head. “You’re the only reason anybody else listened. I should have explained it better from the beginning.” He took off his glasses, and covered his face with his hands.

“You are the stupidest nuclear physicist I’ve ever met,” Boris grumbled. “We need to collect data. We need paper.” He started looking again through empty cupboards and shelves.

“There is none,” Valery muttered wetly. “I have told you, it is pointless.”

“Ah!” Boris found a very old-looking leather notebook and a pencil in one of the empty drawers.

Valery blinked, and put his glasses back on, looking much like a baby owl. “Where did that come from?” 

“This drawer.”

“It wasn’t there before!” Valery insisted. 

Boris shrugged, tossing the notebook on the table. “Let’s do this like scientists. Make a list. Reasons this is or isn’t hell.” 

Valery gawked down at the notebook, then up at Boris. 

Boris rolled his eyes, and sat. “I will start. You are restored to youth at your happiest time. Surely that is a reward?” 

“It is a reminder,” Valery said bitterly. “I used to have potential, and then I squandered it all and did terrible things.”

“I know exactly what you did,” said Boris. “I saw your files. By that reasoning, every Soviet citizen is going to hell.”

Valery shrugged. “Maybe they are.”

Boris scowled. “You are in your grandmother’s cottage. A happy place, surely?”

“But Grandmother is not here,” Valery rebutted. “There is nobody here. Nobody to talk to, not even any animals. Because I failed. I couldn’t get anyone to listen, and people are going to die because of it. Sixteen other reactors, Boris—”

“Yes, I know about the other reactors,” Boris snarled. “You made those tapes, and they worked, Valera. There are hundreds of copies circulating.” 

Valery blinked, once again looking much like an owlet. “They shut down the other reactors?”

“Well… people are talking about it.”

Valery sighed dramatically and rested his head on the table.

“The entire scientific community is talking about it!” Boris tried to keep from shouting. He was brasher when he was young, always getting into fights. He forgot what this rush of emotion and testosterone felt like at its peak. “Dozens, hundreds of scientists even more stubborn than you _won’t shut up about it._ They’re getting arrested, and risking their careers, because of _your words_. For fuck’s sake, Legasov! Do you really hold yourself in such high regard that you think you could have single-handedly made the Soviet fucking Union admit its errors and change its ways? Stop being such a fucking child.” 

Predictably, it didn’t work. Valery either drew in on himself or became even more stubborn when Boris shouted at him. This time it was the former. The professor shrank back, and cradled his head in skinny arms.

Boris scratched his neck and wished desperately for vodka. “I’m not here to torture you,” he said softly.

“Yes, you are.” Valera’s voice was weak.

“Well, I don’t want to!” Boris snarled. “But I suppose I deserve to be in hell, too. I was an inconsequential man who thought he was important because I spent the better half of my life destroying the earth for fuel. I was one of the stubborn fools who didn’t want to listen to you. I couldn’t even get you the right fucking robot.” 

Valera was looking up from the table, his eyes wet, biting his lip.

“I didn’t do enough,” Boris sighed.

“Borya…” the little professor reached out, but didn’t take Boris’s hand. “Nothing could have happened without you. You know that.” 

They were quiet and miserable for a while. “Let’s do this tomorrow,” Boris said. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“The sun never sets,” Valery said softly. “I’ve never needed to sleep.”

“But wouldn’t you like a nap, anyway?”

Valery hesitantly nodded. Boris took his hand, and found the bedroom. The bed looked like it had never been slept in. 

“There’s only one bedroom,” Valery said, soft as a whisper. He was staring at the floor. 

“I figured,” Boris said. He reached up and put his hand on the back of Valery’s neck. He kissed the professor on the cheek.

Valery shivered and made a delightful little noise.

Boris took Valery’s glasses off. He cradled his face, and kissed him on the mouth, tongue probing gently at shy lips.

Valery made another one of those wonderful sounds, and put his arms around Boris.

Boris kissed his cheek, his ear. “Is this torture?”

“No,” Valery gasped. “Please.” He leaned up and kissed Boris clumsily.

Boris was young and tall and strong. He lifted Valery almost entirely and placed him gently on the bed. He kicked his boots off with impossible ease, and stroked Valery’s face, and nipped at his ear.

Valery shuddered, his pale academic’s hands clutching at Boris’s arms. “You’re so strong,” he whimpered.

“Yes,” Boris growled. “I’ve been restored to peak physical condition to torture you.” He kissed a trail down Valery’s throat.

“In a way,” Valery whined.

Boris kissed his mouth again, tongue probing deep. He rubbed against his little professor. “Do you know why I think I’m here, Valera?”

“Mmm,” Valery whimpered, a hesitant admission of ignorance. 

Boris leaned his forehead against Valery’s. “Because I wanted to be,” he said.

—

When they woke, the light in the window was soft, as if morning had just broken. Boris cradled Valery in his arms and frowned at a noise he heard.

“Valera,” he said. “Is that a chicken?”

“What?” Valery rubbed his eyes and listened. “That can’t be,” he said. He got up and found his trousers.

Boris didn’t bother dressing— he suspected that if he simply walked outside he’d be wearing whatever he needed to be wearing, and he was right. He was back in boots, fatigue pants, and a white shirt when he followed Valery outside.

A brown hen was clucking contently, strutting about the little yard. A coop in the corner of the yard stood open. “I think she’s given us fresh eggs,” said Boris. "More eggs than one hen should." 

Valery was staring in confusion. “Should we… put her in the coop?”

“I don’t think there’s foxes,” said Boris. “I think she’ll be fine.” 

Valery was looking up into the trees. Birds were singing in the morning light. The professor looked troubled.

“I will fetch water to boil the eggs,” said Boris. 

“Don’t use the stream,” said Valery. “There’s a well up the hill. I think the stream is poisoned. That’s why there’s no fish.”

“You had your feet in the stream yesterday.”

Valery shrugged. “It didn’t seem to matter.” 

“Jesus, Valera,” Boris grumbled. He went up the hill and found the well, and brought back two buckets of water.

Valery was inside, still looking befuddled. There was bread and fruit on the table, as well as the eggs he'd collected. “I found them in the cupboards,” he said. “Tea, too.” 

“Ah, good,” said Boris. “Any vodka?”

“No.”

Boris put down the water and looked in another cupboard. He triumphantly took out a full bottle of vodka.

Valery frowned. 

The stove was wood-fired, and Boris got it going soon enough. He found a pot and, after making some tea for them both, put on the eggs to boil. Valery watched the entire time from the little table, brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand where all this came from,” he said.

“Valera,” Boris said, as gently as he could. “Did you ever consider asking for these things?”

“Asking who?” 

“I don’t know,” Boris admitted. “Yourself?”

Valery kept frowning. 

Boris get out the paper notebook and pencil. “All right. What do you need to see to convince yourself that we are not in hell?” 

Valery pursed his lips. “Other people, I suppose.” 

“Well, you have me.”

“Yes, but… I could be imagining you.” Valery tilted his head. “Though technically I suppose I'm imagining all of this.”

“Yes,” said Boris. “And now you know you can imagine up as much vodka as you want. Incidentally, if I am just a figment of your imagination, I’m a little offended that your fantasy of me is so young. Was I not good enough for you as an old man?” 

Valery’s shoulders hunched up. His cheeks went as red as his hair, and he looked away.

“I think I am young for my own reasons,” said Boris. “Because you are definitely not imagining me. Who else would you want to see? Your grandmother. Your cat. Parents?”

“My mother, I suppose,” Valery said wistfully. 

“Is she dead?”

“Yes.” Valery looked down at his hands. 

“Your father?”

Valery shook his head. “If I saw him I’d really know I was in hell. He was a pig.” 

"It is often that way with fathers.”

Valery shrugged. 

“Anyone else?"

Valery tilted his head. “I have been lucky,” he said. “I don’t actually know that many dead people.” 

"I suppose that happens when you die young," said Boris, a little bitterly.

"I wasn't young," Valery said. "I certainly wasn't useful anymore."

"Valera, when a person dies at 51, the response is always, _that is awfully young,_ " Boris snarled. "You died at least two decades too early." 

The professor still stared at his hands. "I was dying anyway," he said softly. "I didn't tell you. I didn't want to worry you when you were already sick. But I couldn't…" he shook his head. "I was a coward."

They were quiet a while.

"I never thought you were a coward," Boris said. "I thought you were a hero."

Valery looked away.

"Valera, why don't you try asking for something now," Boris said gently. 

"Like what?" 

"Something you would like."

"I don't deserve it," Valery mumbled.

"It doesn't matter," said Boris. "Is there nothing at all you would like? Something small?

Valery sighed. "I'd like a cigarette," he said skeptically. 

Boris stood up and went to the drawer, the one where he'd found the notebook. He took out cigarettes and matches. 

"Well," said Valery, frowning. 

Boris sighed. "What would it take to make you happy?" He gave Valery the cigarettes, and lit one for him. Watched him take a long drag, his eyes sinking shut, sighing in pleasure.

"Oh," said Valery. "Yes. That's very good. That makes me quite happy." 

Boris grinned. He couldn't recall Valery actually enjoying a smoke when he'd known him. Just chain-smoking nervously, like if he didn't have a cigarette to calm him, he'd tremble right out of his suit. Now he looked relaxed, his young face at ease. It was a good look on him. 

Boris served the eggs, and they ate them with bread and butter, tea, and some sweet red berries.

"Have you looked around?" asked Boris. "Seen what else is out there besides the cottage?"

"No," Valery furrowed his brow. "I woke up here and just thought… this is where I should stay." 

"You've just been sitting here for two years?"

"It didn't feel like two years," said Valery. "It felt like… less, and more, somehow." 

"What would you do?"

Valery looked even more confused. "I would think," he said. 

Boris scowled. "We should look around. See if we can find any other houses. I walked about a mile and a half, I think. Didn't see anything."

Valery blinked. "You walked a mile and a half?"

"I woke up in the forest," said Boris.

Valery looked thoughtful. "How did you find me?"

"I followed the stream," said Boris. "I think we can either go up the mountain to where the trees clear, and get a good view. Or just go down the mountain. I don't think we're in danger of anything, either way."

Valery looked uncomfortable. "My grandmother's cottage was fairly remote. It would take about a day to hike down the mountain, but there is a road, and the road goes to a town. I'm not sure how far the town is, though."

"How did she live out here all by herself?" Boris wondered.

"There were other houses around," said Valery. "But I didn't-- well, I didn't look. And I think maybe I am only imagining it as remote as this because I didn't go back to the cottage as an adult. Everything's so much bigger when you're a child." 

"So let's go for a hike," said Boris. "Down the mountain, and find the road. See what's in that town."

"I don't…" Valery sighed, and looked down at his plate. "Boris, I don't know if I want to go to that town."

"All right," said Boris. "Well, I don't mind staying here with you. For the time being, anyway. But didn't you want to find other people?"

Valery's shoulders bunched up. "I'm just worried that if… what if the town is full of the people who died at Chernobyl? What if they hate me?"

Boris crossed his arms. "Why would they hate you? You saved their loved ones."

"If this is hell," Valery said slowly, "then that town is Pripyat, and it's full of the dead, and it doesn't matter if it's really them, because they'd only be there to torture me."

"If this was hell," Boris said, just as slowly, "then we wouldn't have to go all the way to that town to find ghosts." He sighed. "I really think we are the ones making this place, Valera. So that town should be whatever we want it to be."

Valery tilted his head, and nodded grudgingly. "Well, we would need supplies. Maybe it's further away than I think. We'd have to make sure we have enough food."

"We're already dead, Valera," said Boris. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"I'd still like to be prepared."

Boris stood and opened an old chest that was pushed up against a wall. It was full of military-style backpacks, boots, and rations. "There," he said.

Valery sighed. He shrugged, and went back to his eggs. 

"Then it's decided," said Boris. "We'll go in the morning." 

"We can go _now,_ " mumbled Valery. "The sun won't set."

"Yes," agreed Boris. "But we have plenty of time." He kneeled down on the floor in front of Valery, between his legs, and put his hands on the other man's hips. "And there's other things I'd like to do first," he said, pressing a kiss to Valery's throat.

"Oh," said the professor.

\--

They spent a languid, lazy day making love, and holding each other, and touching each other's youthful face. They picked berries and mushrooms in the woods, and in the late afternoon, Boris went to the stream to find it now thick with fish. He caught one, and they ate a hearty dinner of grilled fish with berries and mushrooms.

The sun did, indeed, set that night. They sat on an old wooden bench in the front yard, wrapped up in an old quilt, drinking vodka, and looking at the sky full of stars. They talked like old friends, like old lovers. They talked about the things they were never able to when they were alive, even if Chernobyl had operated as planned. 

The hen was locked in her coop, snoozing happily. Owls hooted in the distance. The air was fragrant from night-blooming flowers. 

Valery lay tipsily halfway in Boris's lap. He held one of Boris's large hands in both of his own, tracing the lines on his palm.

"I missed you," he said. "The entire time. When I was alive, and here."

Boris drained his glass. "I was furious at you when you died."

Valery's shoulders went up. "I didn't do it to hurt you," he said. "I didn't see any other way."

"I know." Boris stroked the little professor's side.

"I wish I could have talked to you," Valery said, his voice sad and strained. "They made me an exile in my own home. I had nobody. I was all alone."

"And now you've done it to yourself again," mused Boris. "You've made yourself your own, personal exclusion zone."

Valery shifted. "I didn't think about it like that," he said. 

"If this was meant to be hell," said Boris, "I honestly think it would be a lot worse than this."

"I never really needed it to be hell," Valery mumbled. "I was always good at making wherever I was unbearable with my own thoughts. I see now that there's no reason it would be any different after death." 

Boris frowned. He didn't have anything worthy to say to that, and he barely understood it. He rubbed the nape of Valery's neck. 

"There is something, if I'm honest, that's been troubling me," said Valery. "When I first thought this was hell, I actually hoped I would not see any animals. Because I thought… surely any animals I saw would be the pets I had killed at Chernobyl."

Boris almost stood up straight, but refrained from knocking Valery off his lap. "Why-- _You_ had killed?" 

Valery buried his face in Boris's thigh. "They had to shoot them," he said, and Boris could tell he was close to tears. "Can you imagine."

"You didn't have them killed, Valery," Boris said forcefully.

"I ordered it."

Boris almost laughed. "You never had the authority to order anything. Gorbachev ordered it. You were just the first to realize it had to be done." He stroked Valery's side. The professor was still clutching his left hand in both of his, tight. "Valera, my death was long and painful. And I had the best health care the Soviet Union could provide. Those animals would have died, and it would have taken a long time, and it would have been horrible. The disease would have spread."

Valery trembled. "I sent so many men to their deaths," he sniffled.

Boris leaned over, and put his mouth by Valery's ear. "You saved countless lives. I know it was hard to propose the things you did, but if you had not, it would have been so much worse. What you did was a mercy. If there is one thing I know, Valery Legasov, it is that our country did not deserve your mercy, but you were merciful nonetheless."

He kissed Valery on the ear. The little professor trembled, and sniffled, and said nothing. 

\--

Boris woke before Valery the next day, and let the sun stay hidden until his little professor was ready to get up. It was still early morning when they set out on their hike, packs full of water and rations, bellies full of eggs and bread and fish.

Valery seemed morose, and Boris wasn't sure if he should keep the man engaged in conversation or let him sulk. So he did both, talking for long stretches, and then being quiet for long stretches.

The slope of the mountain became gentler, and flattened into a valley. A narrow road cut a curvy line across the bottom, surrounded by tall grass. 

"You know, even if my parents are there," Boris said as they pushed through the grass. "And even if some of my old friends are there, I'm already looking forward to going back to the cottage with you. Now that we know we can get whatever we need, it would be quite a nice afterlife, don't you think?"

Valery was quiet. They came upon the road, and Boris took Valery's hand.

"Wouldn't it be nice? Just the two of us, in a little cottage in the mountains?"

Valery gave him a look that was almost a glare. "Don't you have a wife?" he asked quietly.

Boris was taken aback. "Yes," he said. He squeezed the professor's hand. "Valery, don't worry. She knows about me." He shifted. "She knows about us."

Valery frowned. "She does?"

"Yes. She's too perceptive. I could never keep anything from her. And she's not going to be here for a long time." He tried to smile. "Anyway, her idea of heaven doesn't exactly involve me."

"It doesn't?"

"No. She'll want an apartment to herself in town, and all the quilting she can handle. That's her idea of heaven. Non-stop quilting. Maybe she'll want dinner with me once a month."

Valery somehow looked more miserable. "And what's your idea of heaven?"

Boris tilted his head. "I told you, Valera. It's you." 

Valery's face crumpled. He shook his head.

"Valera," Boris said carefully. "What's wrong?"

Valery pulled his hand away. "You shouldn't stay with me."

"What?"

Valery was trembling, in a different way than usual, and his face was red. "You're going to see who I really am, Borya. And you're going to hate it. Everyone does. I'll turn this into hell for you the same way I did for me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," scoffed Boris.

Valery clutched at his hair. "You only knew me during Chernobyl, and you thought it drove me mad. But this is me, this is who I've always been!" He was breathing so hard it was making a strange noise, and he leaned over, clutching his chest.

Boris rushed to his side. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Nggh-- leave me alone," Valery gasped, staggering to the side of the road. He fell to his knees. His breaths were coming so fast it was painful to hear. The gasping sound made Boris think of a frantic fish flopping around in a fisherman's net.

"I'm obviously not going to leave you alone," said Boris. He knelt by Valery and tried to feel his neck, got the barest grasp of a rapid heartbeat. "Is it a heart attack? How is that possible?"

Valery batted Boris's hands off him, and crawled into the tall grass to hide like a wounded animal. He was still making that horrible noise.

Boris stayed there, kneeling on the road. 

The noise, finally, started to abate. 

"It's an anxiety attack," Valery's voice came out of the grass, miserable and small.

"Anxiety?" Boris furrowed his brow. "Oh, Valera." He started crawling into the grass.

"Leave me alone!" Valery cried.

"All right," Boris said. He stayed where he was. "I won't touch you. I'll stay right here." 

Valery was sitting with his knees pulled up, his arms wrapped around him, his face hidden. His little chest was heaving with each shaky breath.

Boris crossed his legs, and rested his chin on his fists. He prepared for a long wait. They had all the time in the universe. 

Finally, Valery lifted his head just enough to look at Boris warily. "You're still here," he said flatly.

"Yes," said Boris. "I told you I'd stay." He bit his lip, feeling foolish. "I'm sorry I touched you earlier. I didn't know what was going on."

Valery hunched over again. "You're not scared off?" 

"No," said Boris.

Another long stretch of quiet. 

"Has that happened before?" Boris asked quietly.

"Yes," Valery mumbled. "Often. More when I was young. But they never entirely went away."

Boris furrowed a brow. "You never did this when I knew you."

"Not in front of you," Valery said. He snorted. "You would have had me thrown off the commission." 

"No I would not," Boris grumbled.

"You would have said I was too fragile for the work," Valery said miserably.

Boris sighed. "Once I understood the severity of the situation," he finally said. "I think I would have found it completely rational." 

They were quiet for a while. 

Valery started crying again. "This is who I am, Borya," he said. "This is who I've always been. You'll grow to hate it. My own father hated it. I was too sensitive, he said. He'd toughen me up, he said. But whatever he did, it never worked."

Valery was trembling. Boris refrained from touching him. 

"It's always fear or sadness," sobbed Valery. "I've barely ever felt anything else at all. I don't think I know how. Everything good in my life was ruined by it. Chernobyl didn't make me this way. Chernobyl just made it worse." 

Boris was unmanned. He watched in helpless horror. He was once again a useless politician, watching a meltdown he didn't understand at all. 

"I know this is hell," cried Valery, "because I made it! I can't make anything else. Even in death, I'm the same way."

"Tch!" Boris couldn't stop himself any longer. He gathered Valery in his arms. He stroked his hair and cast about desperately for something remotely useful to say. "I'm here now. You didn't make me. And the things you did make are beautiful. You have all the power here. The sun rises and sets for you."

"The sun rises and sets for _you_ ," Valery sobbed.

Boris sighed. "Well… maybe you just have to learn. Or let yourself do it. You deserve to be happy here, Valera. You do."

Valery just shook his head and sniffled.

Boris moved so he was kneeling in front of Valery. He put his hands on the professor's shoulders. "Valery Legasov," he said. "You do not deserve to be in hell. You are here because you saved countless lives. You saved the world, I'd even say."

Valery made a scoffing noise.

"Don't scoff at me, you little brat," Boris warned. "You listen to what I'm saying. Valera, I'm here because I chose to be. I'm here because I wanted to see you. Because I love you. This doesn't make me love you any less. I know exactly who you are. You’re a hero. And I won't live for eternity, or however long this is supposed to be, without you." He pushed sweaty red hair out of Valery's face. "If you can't make this place what you need it to be, I will do it for you. If you want the sun to set forever, I will make it so. If you want to live on the top of Mount Everest, I will make it so. You don't have to worry anymore. I'll give you whatever you need."

Valery sniffled. "Just like always," he said.

"Yes." Boris stroked Valery's hands, which were fisted into his trousers, and kissed his knuckles. "Just like always."

Valery wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Now, my darling," said Boris. "Let's go to that town and see what we see. If you don't like it, we can go back to the cottage. Or anywhere else you can think of. And you'll never be alone again. I'll be with you."

Valery sniffled quietly for a moment, his breath calming. "All right," he said. 

Boris helped him stand, and kissed him, and they slowly walked down the road.

\--

In time, they saw a little town on the horizon. It was modern, all white, planned blocks of apartments rising into the sky. They couldn't tell from the distance whether it was inhabited, or by whom.

Valery sighed. "It looks like Pripyat," he grumbled.

"They all do," said Boris, "because they all look the same." He squeezed Valery's hand. 

Valery smiled weakly. "I suppose that's true," he said.

They walked a little further, until Boris heard a plaintive little voice on the wind.

"Valera, do you hear that?"

Valery looked around. The little voice grew louder, until it was more of an insistent, bossy meow.

Valery went still, then his face broke into the most stunning smile Boris had ever seen. "Snezhana!" he cried. He dropped Boris's hand and ran to the side of the road.

A rather elegant little cat, stripes and blotches and a long tail, emerged from the grass. The bossy meowing continued as Valery scooped her up, kissed her head all over, and made some very undignified noises.

"Boris, this is Snezhana," said Valery. "She's here!"

"I see that," Boris said. "Hello, Snezhana."

The cat was purring, rubbing her face against Valery's chin. Valery looked like he was about to cry again. "Do you think she was here the whole time? All by herself?"

"No," said Boris. "I think she recently passed, and she came to find you. Doesn't that make more sense?"

Valery smiled again, shy and beautiful. "Yes," he said. "It does."

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song by the Matthew Good Band.


End file.
